


Harry Evans

by Artistic_Gamer



Category: HP, Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: But not explicit, Dissociation, Dursley’s shitty parenting, Harry looks like Lily, Harry needs therapy, Im just Doin Me Baybe, Other, bitter harry, but Light Side Harry, kind of character study of snape, mentions of child abuse, powerful!Harry, story starts in their fifth year, this isn’t canon compliant tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23549842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artistic_Gamer/pseuds/Artistic_Gamer
Summary: Severus notices Potter is wearing a glamor. He mentions it to the other teachers, and they strip the glamor off of him.Severus wished he could backpedal.
Relationships: Severus Snape & Harry Potter - Relationship
Comments: 72
Kudos: 655





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING - child abuse is mentioned, as well as pretty heavily implied. It never gets explicit, but still, stay safe.
> 
> Is this at all in canon? fuck no. was it very fun to write and play with? absolutely. not sure how to pin this down, if I’m honest. it’s a story that exists
> 
> the story starts in Harry’s fifth year, by the way

When Severus realized Potter was wearing a surprisingly strong glamor, he debated dealing with the problem himself or letting another teacher deal with it. He weighed his options, but in the end, he decided he'd rather not risk getting in trouble for keeping such a thing to himself. Besides, if it was a problem he didn’t have to deal with, he was more than happy to shunt it off on someone else.

Severus mentioned it casually, calm, but that didn't stop concern immediately spreading through the staff. They pulled Potter aside the next day, not mentioning why he was meeting with the teachers, and stripped him of his glamor in two seconds flat.

Well, Severus had been right. He'd almost prefer if he'd never brought it up.

Potter looked like his mother, not his father. Gasps had swept the staff as his hair went from black to red, freckles peppered under his eyes and on his cheeks, sharing space with the dark streaks that spoke of many sleepless nights. His features softened, making him look more delicate. A scowl replaced his neutral but welcoming expression, a sharpness sparkled in his eyes that wasn't there before. It was the intelligence they had expected from Lily and James’ son.

They tried talking to him. Nothing was met kindly, sharp words fell from a silver tongue, wrapping around itself in a web of distraction and evasion. Potter growled and snarled through it all until they had no choice but to let him go, having gotten nowhere with him.

Now Severus watched him go about his class - the spitting image of his father at the moment - and wondered how on earth this boy hadn't broken down.

His friends chatted amiably while they worked, completely unaware, and Potter played his part with a disturbing amount of perfection. He laughed at just the right time, complained when his friends did, and acted as though nothing was off. He tried mustering his normal anger upon seeing the boy, but no matter how hard he clung to James’ shadow it slipped through his fingers. The image of Lily’s son looking just like her was burned in his head and he couldn't shake it. 

He watched him like a hawk all of class, trying to pick out any habits that slipped through his facade. There was only one. Whenever his friends weren't paying attention, he would brush his knuckles against his lips. Severus didn't know  _ why _ just yet - was he trying to think, was he upset, tired? - but he knew he'd figure it out eventually.

He asked Potter to stay after class. The boy didn't react other than a despondent sigh, gaining sympathetic looks and pats from his friends. Severus wondered how understanding they'd be if they knew Potter without his glamor.

The boy stood in front of him, determination and stubbornness radiating off of his posture.

“Why?” is all he asked. Potter blinked, surprised, and Snape tried to imagine what his actual reaction would've been. An irritated look no doubt.

“Why what, Professor?” he asked back.

“Why do you hide yourself?”

Now, Potter grinned, and Severus frowned at the almost feral look to it.

“Why do people hide anything? Disapproval? Maybe selfishness? Pride? Lots of reasons.”

“And you?”

He shrugged. “Pick one.”

He gave Potter detention today, business as usual, but Severus was sure he knew it wasn't actually detention and more of a chance to question the boy, poke and prod at this new personality that fit with so many of his snakes. If it weren't for the house bias and the boy who lived hatred, it would've been worth introducing him to his house.

He had him sit on one of the chairs across from his desk, aimed slightly towards the door for a feeling of comfort and avoidance. He offered tea. It was politely - no, respectfully - declined. 

“You're not the only curious one you know,” Potter said, casually, but Severus could hear the impatience behind his tone. “I have a “meeting” with my Head of House in a couple days, and Professor Flitwick asked me to stay after class tomorrow, I suppose there's a first for everything.”

“We are curious, yes, but mostly with where this came from. How did you manage to produce such a powerful glamor and maintain it?”

“Would you believe me if I said years and years of practice?”

“No,” Severus said honestly.

Potter pursed his lips. “A shame, since that's my answer.”

“A disappointing one, not to mention vague.”

“Purposely, I assure you,” Potter said.

The next day as he started his first class, Severus wondered if Filius was having any luck with him. The Head of Slytherin House really doubted it.

“Remove your glamor,” Severus cautiously demanded one crisp morning in detention. Potter frowned back at him, and in his mind's eye he could picture Lily's son sneering at him in contempt.

“No,” was his simple response.

Severus tried again. “The doors are spelled shut and silencing charms are in place. No one will get in unless I will it.”

“You're not understanding, it's the principle.”

“The principle?”

“No one was meant to know I wasn't the clone of my father,” the boy stated, his tone oddly flat. “It’s strange having someone know, let alone asking to see this version of me.”

“But we are alone, are we not?”

Potter scowled at him. “Why can't anyone just take my ‘no’ for an answer?”

He wasn't sleeping. Severus realized this just as he realized the boy was wearing a glamor. Suddenly and all at once. 

He was doing techniques that Severus himself had to implement frequently, when he was so tired he couldn't think straight and just blinking felt like too much. His movements were sluggish, his comments were much less frequent, and he would occasionally just stare off into space only to snap out of it and scramble to save his potion. What was interesting was Potter being capable of saving it, knowing what ingredients to add and how to stir. When it was back to mediocrity he would sigh in relief and start the cycle over again. Severus found himself wincing in sympathy as he watched it happen. He gave him detention, saying he didn't look attentive enough, and by the glint in his eye he knew what Severus was doing and didn't appreciate it. Severus ignored the look and stalked off.

Potter insisted through gritted teeth that he was fine, no matter how hard Severus pushed for him to settle down on the couch in his quarters. He offered Dreamless Sleep, a relaxing potion, even just some tea, but Potter denied all of it, growing more snappish with every offer. Severus refused to back down. He wouldn't let someone so young follow in his shaken footsteps. He put his foot down and said that he at least had to have some of the tea Severus drank before he could leave. Potter fought with him for a bit, but quickly realized this wasn't debatable and spat out a _Fine_.

Potter took one drink and practically passed out at Severus’ desk. He didn't tell the boy his usual drink of tea was laced with a strong relaxing potion so he could sleep easier. As he settled him on the couch, covering him up with a flick of his wand, he felt concern deep in his chest - the potion only relaxed muscles and soothed any negative feelings. It was _not_ supposed to knock him out. The fact that it did only added to the story the bruising under his eyes told.

When Potter awoke nearly eight hours later, he was disoriented, confused, but most importantly, much kinder, as if his half asleep brain wasn't able to muster his normal attitude. Severus was able to give him a pain reliever for the headache he had, give him more tea - without the relaxer this time - and Potter laid down without prompt, passing back out almost immediately. Severus let him stay, content enough knowing he was getting some rest. He wrote a short letter requesting the boy to come back tomorrow, hinting that there would be hell to pay if he didn't, put it in clear view, and went to his quarters with a clear conscience.

The next morning, Potter wasn't there, but the note had been moved about, the blanket neatly folded and draped over the back of the couch. Severus wondered how angry he'd be the next time he saw him.

Very, was the answer. Very angry. Potter refused to meet his eye, the muscles in his jaw flexing and relaxing in an endless cycle, but his eyes were brighter than any time yet. Hidden remarks laced with venom were hurled constantly in his direction, and Severus was happy to take points at the more obvious ones - if he wanted to be a child then so be it. Of course he played his part every time, sputtering a “that's not what I meant!” while his friends looked on in anger. Severus was sure he was the only one to notice the glee in sparkling green eyes when a jibe hit a little too hard, but was just subtle enough that it would be a stretch to call out, even for him. The brat was too good at this, Severus thought to himself bitterly after multiple of said jibes were hurled his way.

At the end of class he handed out another detention, dropped it carelessly in Potter’s direction, and smirked at his furious face.

This wasn't helping gain the boy's trust. This was pushing him away. But old habits die hard, he supposed, and besides, he had a reputation to uphold.

The second the boy stepped through the door and had it shut tight, he flicked his wand and the glamor fell. Potter hissed, in partial shock and partial rage, Severus was sure.

“I have had enough of your lack of self care,” he said coolly. “It is obvious you are not sleeping properly, nor eating healthy.”

“I am _not_ eating here,” he spat, his hair a burning red and his eyes with a similar fire. “I'd rather starve.”

Severus had no doubt this version of Harry Potter - an Evans through and through - would. He had enough spite in him.

“I will not take it that far,” he reassured flatly, waving a hand as an invitation for the redhead to sit down. It was ignored. “However, you do need to start eating properly or this will be brought to the Headmaster’s attention.”

Confusion flashed across Potter’s eyes for a moment. “I thought you told the Headmaster verbatim?”

“He knows of your glamor, not of your self harm.”

“It's not _self harm -“_

“But he will if it continues,” Severus interrupted. He gestured to the chair again, aimed slightly toward the exit. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”

That was, perhaps, a suitable phrase to use for Potter’s glamoured self, as he would debate for a moment then sigh in defeat, coming to the reasonable conclusion that the whole conversation would be bad and to start it off poorly would be a waste of time. 

The Harry Potter he saw now was quite different. He scowled fiercely, tilted his chin up an inch, and sat right on the floor with crossed legs.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You cannot be serious -”

“You said it was my choice, Professor,” Potter spoke from his position on the floor. “I've made it.”

This was payback for tricking him last night, the Professor was sure of it. Maybe Severus should've saved this conversation for when he'd cooled off a bit, but hindsight was 20/20 and he couldn't back down now. Not with the bruising still too prominent for his liking, or the lingering tiredness about his posture. Not eating properly wasn't helping his energy supply either.

“Very well, be a child.”

“I _am_ a child. You're the one who keeps forgetting that.”

Severus didn't comment on his remark, instead he grit his teeth and tried to bulldoze over the tenseness in the air. 

The conversation didn't go any better than the initial moments did. He practically kicked and screamed throughout the conversation, pointing out repeatedly that Severus hadn't cared before, “why the sudden change of heart?” Severus knew Potter was right, he _hadn't_ cared before, and he knew what partially caused the one eighty in his attitude but refused to admit it. 

At the end of the conversation Potter left in a fit of hissing rage - his glamor reapplied in a matter of seconds - and Severus was on the verge of a migraine. They didn't go anywhere.

 _Where did the cowed Gryffindor go?_ the Professor wondered as he stood to get a pain reliever. _Better yet, where did he come from to begin with?_

Potter barely ate half a plate’s worth at breakfast, lunch, or dinner the next day, steadfastly ignoring Severus’ eyes searing holes into the side of his head. 

In class, Potter was painfully average next to who his parents were. Nothing out of the ordinary stood out to the Professor. His potions just barely scraped past a passing mark, his wand work held no issues but his actual spell work was subpar, and when conversing with other teachers he was genuinely surprised to note that they had the same observation of the boy. He’d always wondered why the son of Lily Evans was so...generic. 

Now he understood why. 

In a day of detention, Potter’s glamor stripped away and the boy himself settled in his usual seat in front of Severus’ desk, Severus had told him to busy himself for a few moments while he took care of something else. Potter had rolled his eyes, and with just a wave of his hand, his book bag zoomed across the room - where he had carelessly thrown it upon entering - and into Potter’s patient hands. Wandless magic. 

It was a simple _accio_ spell, nothing extravagant, but considering Potter was only in his fifth year it shouldn’t have been possible. Not even most _adults_ could get wandless magic down as smoothly or gracefully as Potter had just done, let alone have it work without a hitch. 

Not only that, but the boy hadn’t even _said_ _anything._

Severus could do nothing but stand in the doorway and stare as Potter began rifling through his book bag, like this whole thing was perfectly normal. It probably was to him. 

Potter noticed him still in the doorway and glanced briefly at him, clearly confused, still messing with homework and worksheets. 

“Decided whatever needed done could wait?” he grumbled, going back into his book bag for a quill and ink. He quickly found them, pointedly setting them both on Severus’ desk as if just asking for the Professor to complain about it. 

“Potter-“

Potter waved his hand once again and his book bag flew gracefully back into its previous position by the door. The boy didn’t even break a sweat at the control needed for such ease. The motion looked fluid, heavily practiced. Effortless. 

“What?” he snapped. “Go do what you need to so we can get this over with.”

Potter opened his ink bottle and began to work on the papers in his lap - a clear dismissal if Severus had ever seen one - and he would’ve wrung Potter’s neck for such blatant lack of respect on any other day. Instead, Severus decided what he just witnessed was a _touch_ more important. 

“Potter,” he began again, “what in Merlin’s name did you just do?”

He looked annoyed now. “Magic. Pretty sure that we can use it in Hogwarts.”

“That is not my point,” Severus snapped, but mentally he was reeling. Why on earth did Potter think this was a normal thing? Why didn’t he realize what a huge feat this was? How did he come to know such complicated magic in the first place, and how did he _practice_ it? “How did you come to learn wandless magic?”

Whatever Potter saw in Severus’ expression made him pause, his face closing off into a neutral, empty mask. Severus himself paused at the reaction, not expecting that. More snark maybe, growing impatience most likely, but not...nothing.

When Potter spoke, his tone was as carefully flat as his face. “I don’t follow.”

This, Severus knew, was worth having patience for. He counted to five, then explained as patiently as he was able. 

“Wandless magic - not to mention wandless _and_ wordless magic - is not touched upon until your eighth year, and even then it is not expected for you to succeed in the subject. It is a very difficult technique to learn, and few have mastered it.” He paused to watch Potter’s face. Still a crafted mask, but Severus could tell in his eyes this was news to him. He continued, carefully. “I will ask again: how did you come to learn such magic techniques?”

Interestingly enough, Potter brushed his knuckles against his lips. 

That wasn’t a habit Potter indulged in one-on-one, only during class. The gears in Severus’ mind struggled to click the few pieces he had into place. Why now? Did he feel cornered? Uncomfortable? Was he annoyed and trying not to show it, maybe? But why hide it now when he had no problem before?

“I just learned it,” he said, slowly. “I didn’t know it wasn’t something people learned on their own.”

“Most people do not properly learn it even with an instructor’s help.”

Potter sat in silence for a moment. Severus waited. “...I see.”

“I assumed you learned it before Hogwarts?”

The boy frowned, pensive, seemingly lost in his own head and most certainly not listening. “What age do most people properly learn wandless magic?” he asked, confirming his assumption. 

Severus raised his eyebrows. “I believe my question was asked first.”

Potter’s mask was dropped for an annoyed scowl to replace it, but he seemed to be attempting to give Severus the same patience he was receiving, which the older man did appreciate. “Yes, before I got my Hogwarts letter. I just assumed wandless magic either wasn’t taught at all and I made an unnatural way of doing things, or the wand was used first and then later it was taken away.”

Severus frowned thoughtfully. Would asking how young he started be pushing his luck? Maybe an indirect way of gathering that information was safer. 

“How old would you say you began to feel comfortable with Wandless magic?”

“I believe my question was asked first,” Potter shot back, throwing Severus’ earlier words in his face. 

As annoying as that was, he supposed it was fair. “Usually the age range is between mid thirties to late fifties, at best.”

Potter hummed. “I see.” 

The Professor waited for an answer, but when he didn’t get one, he pinned the boy with a glare.

“I expect an answer.”

The boy brushed his knuckles to his lips and kept them there. “Shortly before Hogwarts.”

“How did you first discover it?”

Something defensive flashed across Potter’s face, then his eyes hovered behind Severus’ shoulder, where he was about to enter before Potter’s display. “Weren’t you in the middle of something?”

“I was,” he agreed reluctantly. Severus understood Potter was attempting to derail the conversation as neutrally as he could, and seeing how tense Potter looked - how ready to strike he seemed - Severus was reluctant to push farther, not to mention how successful he’d been so far. He didn’t want to ruin the only peaceful conversation they’d had by crossing an invisible line. 

“Last question then. How much magic does your daily glamor use up?” he asked instead. 

If Potter was capable of wandless magic at such a young age, and capable of conjuring and _maintaining_ a powerful glamor every day, what else could this boy accomplish?

“About half at the least,” he replied easily, but his gaze was still sharp, and his hand still hovered in front of his mouth. “Most of my focus is aimed towards the glamor, so its a bit hard splitting my attention and my magic between two different things.”

Of course such a strong, well hidden glamor would take most of the boy’s energy and magical strength, not to mention focus. No wonder he was so average. It wasn’t because he actually _was_ , his glamor was eating away at him. 

The itch to test that theory was so strong he almost demanded it of the boy right then, but he forced himself to drop the subject, to let Potter relax again if nothing else. His hand was already falling back into his lap, his attention shifting to the homework settled on Severus’ desk. 

Seeing Potter’s hunched shoulders as he went back to his work made him speak one last time. 

“You are more than welcome to do Wandless Magic here at Hogwarts. I did not intend to imply that it went against school regulations or was disallowed in some way, it was just a surprise to see someone so young accomplishing such a feat.”

Potter’s posture relaxed slightly. “I figured, but thanks.”

Severus finally turned and entered his Potion Supply Room at the lack of bite in the boy’s tone. His earlier reaction had Severus contemplative, his thoughts quietly spinning. Seeing Potter suddenly get defensive - get quiet - didn’t make sense. Potter was fire and spitting words and had a stubbornness that rivaled Severus himself. Someone like that shutting down was peculiar. It almost seemed like he was walking on eggshells, as if - as if he suddenly became _afraid._

The heavy feeling of dread at the thought sank directly to his stomach and sat there. The behavior was something he’d noticed in quite a few of his snakes, if he really thought about it, specifically the ones with less than ideal home lives. At any sign of genuine anger, they shut down, flattened themselves into a statue of marble and emotionally stood out as little as possible. 

The exact behavior Potter displayed, until Severus reigned himself in and decided to keep his patience and temper. 

He racked his brain in an effort to remember who Potter had ended up living with, but all he could remember was the fact that they were Muggles.

Really, that didn’t help Potter’s case.

After he did what was needed in his store rooms, he walked back out into his office. Potter hadn’t moved much. 

“I would like to test something, if you are comfortable,” Severus announced. Potter didn’t seem fazed by the sudden voice, turning his green eyes over to Severus. The freckles dusted across his cheeks shifted with his frown. 

“Test what?”

“Grab your wand and do a spell. Anything that comes to mind.”

Potter blinked at him a couple of times. “No?” 

Severus raised his eyebrows at his tone. 

“Why be against that?”

“You’ll expect that level out of my regular work, and I hate to break it to you, but you’ll be very disappointed.”

The man leveled a curious look at Potter as a realization slowly began to dawn on him. He walked over to and around his desk, sitting down, and Potter watched his progress, silent. 

“I believe you and I have come to a very large misunderstanding,” Severus began, and it was only until he said it out loud that he realized exactly how true that was. 

Severus took it upon himself to deal with Potter, majorly because of his likeness to Lily, yes, but also because he was Head of Slytherin House. If any Professor could understand the boy’s need to hide himself away, forge a mask and glamor and put on a smile for the world, to feel as though he couldn’t be himself to uphold an image and expectation, it would be Severus Snape. It would be a _Slytherin._

He was sure the thought never occurred to Potter before. 

“You assume that I will apply whatever I experience and witness here into your everyday life, however, I would like to stress to you that this will not be the case. I do understand that these detentions are the exception, not the rule, and I only regret that I did not clarify this sooner.” 

The Professor laced his fingers together thoughtfully. “As you are more than aware, the House I lead is Slytherin, Mr. Potter. I am more than familiar with the concept of putting on a performance for others because it is expected of you to. It is a given that what we do and say here will not be applied to a scenario where others with that expectation are watching, your Wandless Magic, for example. I assume you do not do that around anyone else?”

Potter watched him for a moment, pensive. “No, I don’t.”

“Of course. The same thing will apply to this, as well as anything else.”

Slowly, understanding passed through Potter’s face. 

“Is that why you were so adamant I don’t wear a glamor in here?”

“Mostly, yes.”

To Severus’ surprise, that seemed to be enough for now. The boy sighed, resigned, and set aside his homework. With a quick flick of his wrist, his wand sped across the room and into his hand, his grip on the wand oddly relaxed. He leveled an expectant gaze at the Professor. 

“What do you want me to do?”

“Cast a spell, anything harmless.”

“With the incantation or…?”

“Whatever you are most comfortable with.”

Wordlessly, he made the appropriate gesture and a tiny ball of light glowed at the top of his wand, not as bright as it should be. 

Potter must have noticed his contemplative frown since he spoke. “It’s perfectly bright in here already. It didn’t have to be full blast.”

Spell intensity. Yet another thing not mentioned until the seventh or eighth year, but here Potter was, already performing those techniques. 

“Do its full intensity,” Severus said. 

Shrugging, Potter’s hold on his wand tightened into a proper grip, and the light at the top glowed brighter until it was a dazzling star. 

“Alright, enough.”

Potter cancelled the spell. Severus pursed his lips, doing his best to process the information he was given. Not only was he proficient in Wandless and Wordless magic, but he knew about Spell intensity, and Severus couldn’t help but notice all of those techniques were quieter, more easily hidden or worked around. More easily applied to tasks he didn’t want anyone knowing about.

Paired with his behavior earlier, it made him grit his teeth. It was hard to imagine Potter being nothing short of revered in his home, but with everything he had been shown - paired against the Snakes with less than ideal home lives - the idea that Potter was at the very least neglected was starting to make a twisted sort of sense. 

On a whim, Severus spoke. 

“Who are you currently living with?”

Potter’s eyes flashed with something close to frustration, but he did answer. “My relatives.”

Severus waited for the boy to explain, and only pressed when he was sure Potter wouldn’t speak. “Their names, Mr. Potter?”

“Petunia and Vernon Dursley,” was his response.

“Petunia? Petunia Evans?” Severus fired back, unnaturally fast in his growing panic. 

Potter stared at him. “Yes, my mom’s sister.”

 _Petunia._ Severus’ head spun. 

No wonder. No _wonder._

What on earth was Albus thinking, sending _any_ child to be cared for by that wretched woman, let alone Lily’s son, _let alone_ Lily’s _magical_ son? That horrible woman only hated magic more than she hated her sister. 

What could she do to a child that was both?

“...Are you alright?”

Severus’ head snapped up to look at Potter who tensed at the harsh movement. He grew very still, and Severus could see the way his posture coiled, a subtle movement, maybe even subconscious, and it was doubtful Severus would’ve even recognized the motion if he hadn’t just had his revelation. 

Severus schooled his features, but it was too late. Potter‘s gaze was flat, watchful, almost expectant. 

How could he save this?

“I apologize, I was lost in thought,” he said, calmly and pointedly. “I have always wondered why you were so average in any subject you came across, especially considering who your parents were. This answers a lot of questions.”

He didn’t relax. Severus didn’t really expect him to, not if he dealt with Petunia all his life. 

“Right,” Potter mumbled, looking almost bitter. “We’re done.” He sent his wand back over to his book bag, sent the Professor a challenging glance, then forced himself to relax and do his homework. 

Severus didn’t have it in him to press. Not now. Not with his thoughts spiraling and his heart in his throat. 

_Fucking Petunia._

He left the boy alone the next day. Potter was more tense than usual during class, jumpy, gaze sharp and watchful, and the last thing the Professor wanted was to force Potter to spend time with him when it was very clear he wasn’t simply annoyed, but fearful. Severus wondered what exactly Petunia had done to the child in order for him to behave this way.

When Potter managed to escape his classroom without a detention, his relief was palpable. It made Severus sick. 

That behavior lasted days.

Severus waited for the boy to finally relax and understand Severus wasn’t angry, and the fact that it was taking a lot longer than it should worried Severus greatly. 

Petunia loved playing mind games. She manipulated and wormed her way into your core just to cut you down. Severus couldn’t even fathom being raised in such an environment. His father was much more blunt in his abuse and hatred, more upfront. What kind of mind games did she play with Lily’s son? Especially to encourage this behavior? He seemed like he was just waiting for the next shoe to drop, waiting for Severus to reveal this was all pretend and some type of punishment was swiftly incoming. 

Thankfully, he began to relax over the week. It was filled to the brim with skepticism and wariness, but it _was_ an improvement, and by Friday he was back to trading hidden insults with the boy. He gave Potter a detention, but instead of shutting down, the fire was back and blazing in his eyes. It was a relief. 

Weeks rolled by. Their push and pull hadn’t changed - Severus asked question after question and Potter did his best to dodge every one with vague truths and answers that didn’t actually tell Severus anything of value. It was a frustrating game, but Severus was reluctant to push too hard after the consequence of before. He would rather be a safe zone for Potter than the boy be left on his own, nowhere to decompress or have a second to breathe and drop his little charade.

Severus marveled at the thought. He never would’ve imagined he’d welcome a Potter into his own private space like this. 

Christmas rolled around. Hogwarts - due to renovations - wasn’t allowing students to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. Potter wasn’t taking it well. 

His grades suffered, worse than usual. His focus drifted away from the class, from his friends, he grew quieter, and on the last couple of days before the students were sent home Potter ate almost nothing. Severus’ detentions with him grew into a very quiet affair. Potter would only respond to barbs and insults with a soft hum or a flat expression. 

His eyes were afraid. Severus knew there wasn’t anything he could do, and his helplessness strangled him. 

The kids were sent home. Potter looked almost sick as he boarded the train. 

Severus did his best to make his private space as peaceful and welcoming as he could for Potter’s return. He stocked up a bit on medicines and potions, placed more blankets about his office, finally began to properly utilize the fireplace he had at hand, filled with fresh wood to create a nice, strong burn.

He knew what it was like, knowingly going to a place that only caused you harm. At least he had his mother, and when she passed, he had Lily. As far as Severus was aware, Potter had no one. 

It was time that changed. 

Potter returned, relief as well as exhaustion in his face and posture. His glamor was applied already so Severus couldn’t see any physical injuries on the boy, but he knew there were some, seeing as Potter had a slight, very well hidden limp. 

He pulled Potter aside immediately and demanded he see Severus in his office as soon as possible. Potter was surprisingly so against the idea that he _argued_ with the Professor, but Severus simply took house points away and warned more was incoming if it wasn’t followed. Potter’s face scrunched in rage, eyes flashing, but he agreed through gritted teeth, and that was all Severus needed. 

The boy walked through a couple of hours later, angry and ruffled, slamming the door behind him. It locked, and Severus made no comment on the show of temper as he flicked his wand to remove the glamor. 

Potter _flinched._

Bruises of all different colors blossomed all over his face, and if Severus looked close enough through the shadows he could just make out fingerprint sized bruises around the boy’s wrists. Nothing else was immediately noticeable, but with another quick flick of his wand - and another flinch from Potter followed by an extremely impatient look - he had the boy scanned for more injuries. 

“I want to go back to the tower,” Potter said through gritted teeth. 

“Not until I know the extent of your injuries. Have a seat, I will be right back.”

“No.”

Severus stopped. “I am not asking you.”

“Neither am I,” Potter said, quiet and seething, pointed. “I want to go back to the tower.”

He looked at the boy, all hard edges and sharp teeth, defiance slathered on his face like war paint with his back curved, defensive, waiting. 

This boy shouldn’t have the eyes of a veteran. He should’ve never tasted war by his family’s own hands, but here he was, injured to high heaven, blood on his tongue from biting back words that were as powerful as lead bullets. 

“Please allow me to heal you,” Severus said, equally as quiet but for different reasons. “There is no reason for you to suffer in silence when I am capable of helping.”

“I’m not the one who’d suffer,” was his bitter response, but he sat down on his couch anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus clicks a few more pieces into place, but the puzzle is nowhere near complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some time, so I decided - in the face of all the support this story has gotten (thank you so much!) - that I would add another chapter. I want to warn everyone now: don’t expect frequent or consistent updates to this story. I write whenever inspiration strikes, and unfortunately, inspiration is a fickle thing, at least with my experience.
> 
> Regardless, I hope you all enjoy.

Severus couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but Potter relaxed after that. 

It wasn’t obvious. Severus had to pay close attention to his behavior, but there had been a shift, however subtle it may have been.

He had expected Potter to be nothing short of furious, but the next day class began and he was...well, Severus didn’t think ‘calm’ would ever describe him, but Severus noticed he had made himself comfortable quicker than normal. Potter’s little habit only increased in frequency, and Severus noticed his attention to his potions waned even farther. 

He took points for it with a drawled remark. It was no excuse to slack off, Lily’s child or not. Even his snakes didn’t get the privilege of lounging about. Potter didn’t look too bothered and simply quipped back at him, a knowing glint in his eye. 

Potter ate more than usual at dinner that night as well. It still wasn’t what he  _ should _ be eating, but improvement was improvement and Severus refused to question it. Even in the following detention that evening, he settled faster, relaxed quicker, spoke just a bit more thoughtlessly. The normal bite in his words had softened, just barely. Still, he wasn’t cooperative, not on purpose, and getting information from him was like pulling teeth.

It was a crisp evening when Potter finally gave him anything new. 

Both of their defenses were lowered in the quiet. His office was looking more and more like his rooms with each passing day, with soft blankets and a crackling hearth, tea cups settled on his desk, even though Severus didn’t drink it often and Potter refused to drink any after Severus’s stunt, but the smell lingered in the small room - peppermint and cinnamon. One of the blankets was covering the boy’s legs while he sat at his usual spot in front of Severus’s desk. The second Potter had stepped through, glamor stripped, he made a fuss about the temperature and snatched a blanket, shooting Severus glances like he believed he’d be punished for it. He slowly relaxed the longer Severus had remained calm and kept to himself until Potter was as relaxed as he was going to get. He tried not to make a big deal out of it, but the comfortable posture was exciting to witness, a stark contrast to his normal wound up and tense form.

It was a happenstance. Severus had looked up from where he had been grading papers, giving Potter a chance to settle before he started asking his usual questions, and he just so happened to notice the book of healing spells settled in Potter’s lap; more importantly, resting on top of the homework he was meant to be doing, and he damn near rolled his eyes. Severus had no doubt that Potter was probably researching healing spells so Severus would have no reason to put him in that position again. He opened his mouth, ready to chide the boy. 

Then he noticed Potter’s face, brow furrowed with concentration, eyes flickering back and forth from the book to the paper on Severus’s desk, and he realized suddenly that Potter was taking notes - detailed ones underneath the ink smears and fingerprints. Potter’s full force of attention startled him - rarely did he see him have Evan’s focus like that. Normally Potter’s attention seemed fractured, split between his thoughts and his surroundings, but now green eyes were staring holes into the pages on his lap. He was in the middle of writing the wand motion out for a particularly tricky spell, hand in a smooth, quick flow of scratchy handwriting, and Severus found himself back in third year, Lily’s focused frown stark, quick hands flying as she tried to catch up with a potion that was brewing too quickly, or a teacher that was talking just a little too fast.

Severus blinked. He was back in his office. He almost didn’t want to interrupt the rarity, but he was too curious. “What is that for?” he asked. 

Potter jumped, barely, a quick, subtle tense of his shoulders and arms, and it only testified how relaxed and in-the-zone he had become. Potter glanced at him, alert but not cautious. 

“Me,” Potter said flatly. “Having a Dark Lord after you makes you interested. Why?”

“Dark Lord or not, you should be focusing on your homework, correct?” Severus frowned. “Why write down the wand movements?”

Potter didn’t look up from the book that time, eyebrows rising. “So I can...practice without the book?”

Severus raised his eyebrows in return. “At home?”

“Please.” He scoffed. “Do you really think I can work around the ministry’s tracking?”

“What about your glamor?” Severus pointed out. “We hadn’t known about it until just a couple months prior. Unless you do not apply the glamor at home?”

“I take off the glamor here sometimes,” Potter replied, absentmindedly flipping pages, most likely searching for a specific spell, “and I apply it before I leave. I have no reason to take the glamor off at home.”

Severus paused at that, digested it. That - admittedly,  _ finally _ \- was a new piece to this puzzle. He had no reason to remove the glamor at home?

“Why is that?” he asked, keeping his tone in a delicate balance. Interested, but not eagerly so.

Potter hummed thoughtfully, jotted something down and smeared more ink onto his palm. He didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he was either used to it or didn’t care. “It isn’t needed.”

Severus felt, quite bluntly, that clarified absolutely nothing. He felt as though he was standing on thin ice, already crackling under his weight. Potter was a sharp one, any attempt that came across as too pushy or too eager was doomed the moment it left his mouth. He had to be careful, tread lightly, create as little cracks in the ice as possible. 

“It’s not needed how?” he asked, watching Potter’s hand move and wincing as it seemed to not care about the still wet ink on the page. Prints of Potter’s palm littered the right side of the paper. “The glamor itself or the process of removing it?”

“Removing it,” he replied simply. “The Ministry would pick up on the spell.”

“I think you are misunderstanding what I am asking,” Severus pressed, treading carefully. The ice creaked, fragile, dangerous. “Do your relatives know of your glamor, and do they not require it removed?”

Potter looked up from his paper. Severus felt water lap at his heels. 

“What do you mean?”

“Let me rephrase. Do your relatives know about this version of you?” He gestured to Potter’s red hair and freckles.

Green eyes stared hard at him, flashing and whirring with thoughts. He paused. “Yeah.” 

‘Yeah’, not his usual ‘yes’ or otherwise blunt response. The avoidance was worrisome. 

“Do they approve of your glamor?” Severus asked. 

“Of course they do. Something like that doesn’t just go unnoticed.” Potter frowned. “You tell me to do my homework and then you fire me with questions?”

Severus knew when to backpedal. The ice had crumbled, and there was no way forward now. “Get to it then, and put the book away. You can do that later.”

Thankfully he was only mildly annoyed, either unknowing of the miniature bomb he just dropped or downplaying it to himself. Potter sent the book flying with one quick flick, and a tap on his paper vanished most of the ink smears and fingerprints. Severus watched, fascinated. It explained his lack of care earlier, but the ink on his palm was still wet and glistening. 

Why did Potter’s relatives not expect him to remove his glamor but were aware of it? They had to have approved the glamor, but why? That admission held a lot of implications, and it infuriated Severus that he didn’t have much to work with. A glamor that hid his injuries and no more wouldn’t be so peculiar, but a glamor that changed his appearance entirely?

Petunia wasn’t trying to erase Lily in the boy, was she…?

Spring was approaching, warming the chilly March air one day at a time. The more Potter spent in his company unglamored, the more Severus had the opportunity to compare and contrast Potter’s behaviors to other, well adjusted students, as well as his glamored self. 

He was louder, with his glamor on. More the brash Gryffindor that was expected of him and less the snarky, watchful Slytherin he was in Severus’s company. In class, Potter talked to his friends whenever he could get away with it, quiet and trusting, with chicken scratch notes passed back and forth and soft whispers between each stir of their potion. When class ended, any part of Potter’s reserved behavior vanished on a relieved exhale. He moved freely, thoughtlessly, chattered loud, all kind gestures. It was clear the displays were played up, but Severus could see the sincerity in Potter’s face when he smiled and laughed. 

He may have been hiding himself physically, but emotionally, his friends could reach him where Severus could not. 

Tucked away in Severus’s office, however, it was a very different story. Potter wasn’t cordial to him on the best of days, but once his glamor was removed, the distrust and anger was a constant. He was lighter on his feet, more thoughtful, always aware of minor details. Wandless and wordless magic was everywhere, an assumed habit to going about his duties as quietly as possible, and Potter went from being one of the loudest people in the room to damn near invisible. He was thin and tired, purple streaks speaking of late nights and a weariness to his posture Severus could relate with all too well.

He was always watching Severus out of the corner of his eye, and he knew Potter was watching out for tone, body language, anything that could point to Severus’s mood. He often did the same with his own father, and something ate away at his gut seeing Potter mimic his habits as a child and teenager. His words were quick witted and vague, careful to keep meanings hidden and lead Severus into circles. Nothing he said was blunt. 

Except his cheek. No matter how wary Potter was, it didn’t stop him from tripling his snark. Any restraint Potter had before was gone, replaced with fire on his tongue and eyes to match the burning red of his new hair color. Every time Severus tried to take a coaxing step forward, Potter charged like a bull and forced him two steps back. He couldn’t get close to the boy, a guarded heart forged by iron and steel and one too many bruises. He had no idea how Granger and Weasley managed to break through. Severus wasn’t sure if it was his presence making Potter so defensive and snappish or if that was just his normal behavior - he had never seen Potter interact with someone his age with the glamor removed, after all, and Severus knew if he even suggested the thought Potter wouldn’t return to his office, no matter how many detentions he gave the boy. It didn’t stop him from wondering. Would he be just as snarky with his friends as he was with Severus, if he could act how he wanted?

He touched bases with the other teachers, wanting some kind of idea of how Potter spoke with others. All of them were surprised to learn Severus was also trying to understand Potter’s behavior, something he didn’t fault them for. It was a curious realization though, knowing Potter had decided to keep Severus’s curiosity to himself instead of going to another teacher, to whine and complain if nothing else. Granted, considering Potter’s upbringing, his lack of trust in the adults around him wasn’t surprising. 

Filius admitted he was struggling. From the Charms Professor’s reports, Potter was just as convoluted with him as he was with Severus, to his lack of surprise. What was surprising however, was learning Potter held just as much contempt for the rest of the teachers as he did Severus. Even Minerva wasn’t exempt from Potter’s snark. Sprout was the only one to report a neutrality in the boy’s tone, no harsh words to be seen. 

Severus knew and understood it was just Potter’s way of being as difficult as possible. He wasn’t comfortable with the questioning and probing into his home life, and the sudden outing was probably a huge shock for him, as well as how quickly the teachers responded to the situation. 

They asked how he was fairing. He said a terse “As expected” and let them make their own assumptions. He wasn’t breaking Potter’s trust now, not after how hard he’d worked to get this far. 

The most notable thing about him other than the obvious was Potter’s scar. It was rough, more jagged, cutting through his eyebrow to inch a little too close to his eye for comfort, climbing higher until it almost disappeared into his hairline. It was less neat. The glamor prettied it up, made it shrink and smooth out to make the mark look like it had been painless. The actual scar looked a lot like the killing curse tore through his skin instead of a clean cut. His bangs still managed to hide the majority of it, as Potter’s hairstyle hadn’t changed with his glamor. Severus only noticed from brief glances, Potter running a thoughtful hand through his hair, showing off the scar so many wished they could see. 

Looking at it, Severus felt sorrow. Where others saw hope, a savior, Severus saw a battered child, torn away from his mother and thrust into a position he was sure Potter didn’t want. Burning red hair strewn upon cold tile, petite, womanly hands just as freezing, unseeing green eyes staring up at him, a plea that went unheeded. 

Severus felt sorrow. He really was just a child, no matter if he had the posture of a soldier. 

Summer was just around the corner. Potter was miserable, there was no other word for it. Just like his behavior during Christmas break, Potter’s grades and appetite plummeted, and nothing Severus said or had yet to say would help. His little habit bled into mealtimes, in the hallways, anywhere.

It was the last week of school. Potter had walked in and sat down, immediately coiling up like a spring. He was quiet, but snappish, venom entwined with his words, and Severus felt as though he was right back at square one.

“You know you only have a week to stay there,” Severus said, hoping to raise Potter’s spirits. “You will be moved shortly after.”

“A week to you,” Potter muttered, bitter and cruel, “will be years to me. That means nothing.”

Potter had never said out loud what that implied, but Severus knew, and the helplessness crept back up on him as the week sped all too quickly by. Before he knew it, the students were boarding the Hogwarts Express back to King's Cross. Severus refused to let himself get sentimental; refused to let himself watch Potter board the train, tense and worried and dragging up memories Severus didn’t have time to sort through. Instead he decided to be a bit more proactive. 

He had made his office into a safe space for the boy. School was ending, but by no means did that imply he was going to end his little meetings with Potter. Grimmauld’s Place was hardly a suitable spot to host a hurting child, but it was better than his relatives’ house surely, and Severus was sure he could decorate one room out of all of them just for Potter. He excused the action to himself, thinking it was just another way to get him to open up and reach the source of Potter’s behavior, but it was flimsy at best. Even he knew it. 

Still, he picked a room out of the way. It was to the far left of the house, up on the third floor where hardly anyone ventured, and he took the week to make the place at least semi inviting. Not even Black could hold his attention with snide remarks for very long - a child was hurting how he once did and now he could do something about it. Something small, granted, but it was better than nothing. He did his best to recreate the atmosphere his office had held, and taking a step back at the end of the week, seeing the spotless floors and chairs with the blankets draped over the tops, he thought he did a decent job. A desk similar to his was even tucked away in the left hand side of the room, positioned the same as his office. 

Someone was sent out to rescue Potter. Severus thought of offering to go, but he knew Potter would attempt murder if he ever dared step across the threshold. Someone more trusted - and more obvious, Arthur - left, saying he would be back in five, and he waited on pins and needles, almost nervous. 

Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Black was completely restless, pacing all over the place and wondering aloud what could be taking them so long. Severus would find it annoying on any other day, but now he couldn’t help but mirror the other man’s thoughts, wary. Molly couldn’t quite sit still either, hovering in the kitchen to stress bake. 

The floo roared, and he had to stop himself from rushing out to meet the pair. There was whispering for a moment, then Potter stumbled through the doorway shortly after, gangly and cloaked in his usual glamor. Black jogged to meet the boy halfway, a stupid grin on his face. He watched Potter let his Godfather embrace him with a heartfelt squeeze, and watched the barely there flinch that snapped through his body at Black’s outstretched hands. His blood roared in his ears at the sight even as Potter shrugged the reaction off, laughing at his Godfather’s childish excitement. 

Severus wasn’t sure if Potter was mocking Black or if he genuinely thought Black was being funny. A child shouldn’t be so hard to read. 

“Potter, a word,” he said, and Potter turned to face him with a small frown. Severus could see in his mind’s eye, however, Harry Evans scowling at him in defiance, green eyes flashing. 

“What?” Potter said, voice tinged with disappointment. “But I just got here.”

“Let the kid go,” Black chimed in, throwing an arm around Potter’s neck and turning them both towards the kitchen. “You can hound him about his grades later. It’s summer, let him relax for a minute!”

Potter turned - slightly looking over his shoulder - and shot Severus the most insufferably smug grin the Professor had witnessed yet. Severus seethed. Potter knew Black would brush Severus off in a heartbeat, and he took full advantage of the opportunity to stave off that day’s round of questions.

Fine. He could let Potter go, but the second the brat was alone was the second they would have a much needed talk.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus finally uncovers the root of Potter’s little habit, and the answer doesn’t make him happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - pretty detailed description of a dissociation episode, taken from my own experience

He waited nearly four hours for an opportunity. It was difficult. Potter knew his goal and made it a point to surround himself with as many people as possible, not a hard feat in a house packed with loved ones excited to see him. Granger and Weasley were glued to his side for hours, and he was tennised back and forth between Molly, Black, and Arthur. Severus wondered if he would have to admit defeat and talk to him tomorrow. 

That is, until they all finally dispersed to do their own tasks. Molly took the kids to help clean up, and Black and Arthur split to discuss strategy. He pulled Potter aside from cleaning and guided him upstairs. He went straight to the room tucked away on the third floor, and Potter scoffed the second he saw it. 

“Even in Grimmauld’s Place I can't escape,” he snarked, eyes scanning the room and landing on the various blankets scattered around. The sarcasm paired with his glamored self was strange, but Severus shrugged it off. 

“The questions will not cease simply because we are no longer at Hogwarts. You have hardly answered anything.”

“Of course,” Potter deadpanned, but he did walk further into the room and brush his knuckles against the closest blanket, what Severus hoped to be a good sign. 

They sat in their usual places, Potter in front of the desk and himself behind it, more as a natural barrier for the boy than anything else now. He didn’t demand Potter to remove his glamor, something that got him a strange look, but he wanted Potter comfortable before they went to questions without it. It was a new environment, and he recognized how dangerous it was to force Potter to do something he only did in familiar territory, places he deemed safe enough. Grimmauld’s place wasn’t one of them, not quite. Not yet.

Severus asked simple enough questions. “What do you think of Grimmauld’s place?”

“Grey,” Potter replied with a smirk.

He swallowed a sigh and counted to ten. “It is drab, yes,” he agreed, because well, Potter wasn’t wrong. “I meant more about you being comfortable. Feeling protected.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “I’m surrounded by capable witches and wizards. It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

He disagreed, but took the statement for what it was and moved on.

“What about the house itself?”

“Stuffy,” he said absently. “Reminds me of a cupboard. The amount of people don’t really help either.”

Severus huffed a chuckle. Again, the boy wasn’t exactly wrong. He was thankful he wasn’t the only one feeling the awful atmosphere, but displeased with the fact that it was Potter, the one he was trying to make comfortable.

Grimmauld’s Place was hardly a suitable spot to host a hurting child, but he was glad Potter was able to relax here, at least somewhat.

Potter may have taken the room in itself well, but pulling the boy away from friends and family to talk at all was proving very difficult.

He was always around friends, at the very least. Granger and Weasley hadn’t left his side except briefly since he arrived, and it was clear Potter wanted it to stay that way, going out of his way to make sure he was with one of them at all times. Severus wondered if it was a comfort thing, if the boy even realized he was doing it. Granger and Weasley certainly noticed and only made the problem worse. Severus couldn’t get him alone.

Although, he wondered if that was a bad thing. Seeing Potter curled up on the couch, summer homework settled on his lap while Granger nagged at him and Weasley to get working, made him realize how relaxed Potter was here, how his presence was felt in the room, how the boy didn’t seem inclined to be quiet by any means.

It could be an act, but Severus had a particularly good instinct, and something told him Potter wasn’t faking a smile while in Grimmauld’s Place.

The only true problem in Severus’ eyes was Black.

Black was a constant irritation, and Severus more often than not had to grit his teeth against the barrage of negative comments and whining Black did on a regular basis. If he hadn’t cared about Potter’s wellbeing, making sure he was settling in okay, he wouldn’t have stuck around even a second longer than he had to, but he did, and being around his nemesis was grating on his nerves very quickly.

Even if all of that wasn’t true, he saw how Potter reacted to Black and could translate what Harry Potter did to what Harry Evans would do instead, if he could.

Black reached out to give Potter a hug, and a snap flinch would tense his body. Severus saw Evans in his mind’s eye slapping Black’s hands away with a cold remark to keep his hands to himself. Black remarked how Potter looked so much like James, and his smile would tighten around the edges. In his mind’s eye he could see Evans giving Black a sour look, green eyes narrowed dangerously and a frown pulling at his lips and the freckles on his cheeks.

Severus tried to pull him away then, but Potter was still against it, and Severus fumed quietly while Black absolutely destroyed any sense of comfort the boy had.

At least...that’s what he had thought to be the case. The first few weeks of watching Black traipse around with as much subtlety as a Hippogriff in a common room was infuriating, especially since it only seemed to be Black invoking such reactions, although Severus wasn’t sure why. The semantics didn’t really matter though, Potter’s tense face was more than enough.

But the longer he hovered around in the shadows and watched Potter interact with different age groups, the more of a pattern he noticed.

Potter settled the most with his friends, there was no question about it. He settled the quickest, talked the loudest, the most unfiltered. He lounged with them, laughed with them, joked around. Nothing was fabricated with them, lies only leaving his mouth to protect his glamored state.

Adults made him nervous instantaneously, varying in intensity depending on who he was with. With Arthur, Black, Kingsley, Remus - any of the men in the building - Potter was physically wary, always looking for body language, facial expressions, quick movements. He had no hesitation in leaving the room when he was uncomfortable, under the guise of using the bathroom or finding Granger or Weasley, really any of the children.

With the women - even the gentle Molly - Potter was emotionally, mentally, on guard. He smiled with his teeth, had his words tiptoe around what he was actually saying, acid just on the tip of his tongue, ready for use whenever he needed it. He didn’t feel nearly as comfortable just leaving the room when he didn’t feel safe, instead he lingered in the background, eyes sharp and waiting for a proper reason, a strong excuse to bail that wouldn’t be questioned much. It was the only time Potter let Severus usher him aside, away from everyone else. His relief was palpable, and the way he rushed out of the room made Severus queasy.

It was finishing the very nasty picture of Potter’s home.

Albus was a strange grey area with the boy. He knew Potter wasn’t happy with how Albus had been avoiding him lately, but even still, Albus never got the brunt of Potter’s anger. At least, not in the same way he did with everyone else. The way he interacted with Albus was strange, a weird blur of how he actually behaved and how his image demanded he behave until not even Severus could decipher precisely what was real and what wasn’t. He wondered if that was how Potter was, truly, and had split himself in a desperate attempt at a defense mechanism, or if he just didn’t know how to treat Albus, an abnormal case.

Albus treated him normally, no odd behavior to be seen, as if Potter wasn’t a battered, glamored child in desperate need of stability. Severus disapproved of the technique quite heavily, and he wondered belatedly if Albus had known about the boy’s glamor before anyone else.

He didn’t ask. He already knew the answer, didn’t want to hear it.

The notion that only himself and Minerva knew about the boy’s glamor was only being solidified, ringing true by everyone else’s behaviors when it came to how they treated Potter. Love and affection was everywhere, a gentleness in the way they addressed him, but from kindness, not caution. Not in the way someone would treat an abused child. Besides, he was certain Potter would not be in his home if any one of them knew.

Not even Black was aware. Severus wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Smug, that he knew something about his precious godson that Black didn’t? Horrified, that the boy had been that good at keeping it so tightly under wraps? 

Severus had automatically assumed that his friends didn’t know, but he questioned that the more he watched Potter interact with them, almost peaceful. Out of anyone Potter would tell something like that, it would be his friends, wouldn’t it? Not an adult. Knowing Potter’s actual tendencies, it wasn't too far of a stretch to assume he only acted like he hid the glamor from them to seem unsuspicious. Maybe they did know, and kept it quiet for the adults’ sake? 

He realized why Potter was so talented at getting himself into trouble. He simply didn’t trust the people in charge around him, didn’t trust the adults in his life with his problems. It wasn’t a surprising epiphany, but his heart sank all the same. It was frustrating to know that no matter how hard he tried to protect Potter, the boy was too content with destroying himself on his own. Although he supposed that wasn’t quite fair - the distrust was built through years and years of conditioning and broken second chances. Not stubbornness, at least, not  _ solely _ from stubbornness.

He watched Potter mess around with his friends, throw balled up paper at one another and tease with fondness, having lost the whole point of sitting down to do homework. Weasley said something with a sour look on his face, and Potter laughed, loud enough to stretch across the empty room. 

Severus didn’t bother him. Didn’t have the heart to pull him away while he looked so content.

Severus had dragged the boy upstairs by his ear after nearly a week of waiting patiently, and he politely told Black to shove it when he argued. Potter didn’t fight it, only played his role and shot a miserable look to the room at large. Sympathetic looks followed Potter out. Severus ignored them.

“Do Granger and Weasley know of your glamor?”

Potter cracked his knuckles absently, a new habit, or maybe just an occasional indulgence. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked sooner.”

“I automatically assumed they did not,” he clarified, “since not even I had noticed until recently. But I suspect that might be incorrect.”

Potter tilted his head, his black hair stark against his green eyes. “Why’s that?”

“Unfortunately, you are much more likely to tell them, not an adult.”

Potter was silent for a moment, then brushed his knuckles against his lips. Severus locked on to the movement, scanned Potter’s face and body language in the hopes that he could find another puzzle piece. Why,  _ why _ did Potter do that?

Potter seemed a bit more - more lost in thought maybe but the description didn’t quite fit. Far away, perhaps? Absent?

“No.”

Severus frowned. “No, what?”

“No. They have no idea.”

He leaned back in his chair for a moment to digest the admission. All throughout his years, Potter had been well and truly alone at Hogwarts.

“Then you truly do not remove the glamor unless you are alone?” he asked.

Potter frowned. “I don’t. The whole point is to blend in you know, be who people expect.”

“Have you ever thought about revealing yourself to them?” Severus asked, neutral, neither scolding nor suggesting. Even bringing up the topic on its own was dangerous territory, but he labeled the risk a necessity. “Certainly they would expect you to be yourself.”

Potter looked wary, and Severus smoothed out his face of expression on instinct, not sure what set him off. 

“No one was meant to know I wasn’t a clone of my father,” Potter said, a phrase he knew by heart with the number of times the boy had repeated it. “Taking my glamor off is...strange, it’s not something I like doing. Haven’t you noticed I always have you do it?”

That had to be Petunia’s conditioning, Severus knew it. His heart sank. She really was trying to erase her sister, forcing her son to act out her plan as if to atone for his very existence. There was no other explanation for it.

“Yes Potter, I have eyes,” he drawled. Slipping back into his regular behavior was much easier to do looking at James’ clone, a Potter. “Although I wonder why you waste both of our time.”

Potter didn’t miss a beat, grinning, not unkind. “I always pray you’ll have forgotten in your old age. I’ll be right one day.”

Severus could see the teasing glint in his eyes, and as much as he recognized that was a sign the boy was finally relaxing in his presence, the statement was significantly less appreciated. The glare he shot Potter’s back on the way out nearly made the fabric smoke.

  
  


“Why do your relatives approve of the glamor to begin with?” Severus asked during their next meet up, nearly a week later. The question hadn’t left him alone since Potter admitted it before in Hogwarts, and he felt it was important.

After all, Potter had admitted to nothing. Almost everything he knew about Potter’s family was based on assumptions. Potter had not once admitted to abuse outright, never confirmed his suspicions about Petunia, never even confirmed he was doing poorly to begin with. He had never asked the boy of course, but only from the preemptive knowledge that Potter would circle around the question at best, lie through his teeth at worst.

The worst part of it all, he knew: if he ever wanted to do something about Potter’s family, Potter himself would be his biggest obstacle. 

“I wanted it,” Potter answered simply. “They were pretty agreeable.”

“Why did you want it?”

“Pick a reason. It’ll probably be accurate enough.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed, his patience waning quickly. “Fine,” he said. “I assume you picked it out of the overly glorified stories you heard about your pompous father.”

The second the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.

“Hit the nail on the head,” Potter stated casually, but there was a bite to his words that hadn’t been there before. “I just hated seeing my mother in the mirror. I mean, who likes freckles nowadays? Certainly not me.”

“Quit being difficult,” he said, trying to sound snappish, but it came out gentler than he meant it to.

“What do you mean? I think that you gave a fantastic answer. Very Snape-like. Snake-like? Either works.”

Severus grinded his teeth. “Stop dodging questions and answer me!”

“But I did.” Potter shrugged. “It’s not my problem if it’s not something you wanted to hear.”

“You are doing nothing but leading me in circles, that is hardly answering anything.”

“If I’m leading you in circles, why do you keep following me?”

Severus stood. “We are done for today. I have had enough.”

The boy stretched and stood leisurely, but Potter was watching him carefully in his peripheral.

He wanted nothing more than to use Legilimency to finally get a solid answer to  _ anything _ he’d asked, but he crushed the desire before it fully formed. Potter would strangle him the moment he was released, he was sure of it.

Even worse, Potter would never trust him again.

The first time Potter sought out the room without his intervention, it was not for a positive reason. Severus had hoped if there was a place in easy access, Potter would be more inclined to appear on his own to talk, instead of Severus having to drag him by the scruff. He had no such luck.

An Order meeting had gone sour very quickly. A shouting match had been just on the horizon before Albus had cut it off. Everyone had left grumbling, red in the face.

Even out of the meeting, tensions were high. Dinner rolled around, and Black just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. One passive aggressive comment had everyone right back to where they had been earlier. Even worse, really, since the shouting match that had been brewing finally happened, and it wasn’t a fun romp. Severus, personally, enjoyed the spectacle quite a bit. It wasn’t often Lupin raised his voice like that, especially against a member of his own possé, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Watching them make a fool of themselves was a dinner and a show.

When everything had calmed down, however, his good mood faded very, very quickly upon noticing that Potter had vanished. No one else pointed it out, even seemed to notice Potter’s absence in their own anger. He excused himself from the table and left - the boy hadn’t eaten a damn thing on his plate yet. He could idle all he wanted, but he had to eat  _ something. _

He searched the living room, the kitchen, the different bedrooms. No sign of him. He checked outside. Still nothing. Then he checked the third floor, opened the door to the room he’d crafted, not expecting anything.

But there Potter was. Curled in on himself with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, facing away from the door. He sat cross legged on the ground.

His first instinct was to chew him out, but upon closer inspection, Potter was shaking. It was subtle, like everything about the boy, a shiver passing through his shoulders. The longer he watched, the more he realized Potter’s glamor was unstable, weak. It flickered every once in a while, like a broken monitor. Severus walked closer with growing concern twisting his stomach into a thick knot, slow and cautious, and went around to see Potter’s face.

His knuckles weren’t brushing his lips for a moment, they simply stayed there. Potter’s face was blank, eyes far away, not registering the floor or the walls. He stared through all of it with unfocused eyes, twirling his wand in between his fingers.

His heart dropped as a slow realization crept on him, the very few pieces he had scrambling to click with what he was looking at now.

Potter had to be brushing his knuckles against his lips whenever he dissociated. Mild or heavily, it didn’t matter. If he was uncomfortable, upset, he mentally ran away from the problem. The hand in front of his mouth might be another physical barrier. Maybe it was just a soothing gesture he did while he dissociated. Severus wasn’t sure, but now he knew they were linked, a touch too late, in his opinion.

Severus sat down beside him, slow and careful. Potter didn’t even glance at his direction.

“Potter,” he called, his voice strong but quiet. “Potter, look at me.”

Nothing. He continued to stare, absently twirling his wand in his left hand. His fingers were swift, smooth in their movements. Severus figured they were well practiced.

“Potter,” he called again, louder still. He reached out and put a careful, gentle hand on Potter’s blanket clad shoulder. He searched for any sign Potter became distressed from his touch, but it seemed to be met with neutrality from both his glamored and true self. “Why don’t we move you somewhere comfortable? I am sure a chair is preferable to the floor.” 

Potter blinked for the first time in minutes. His left hand paused, and Severus jumped at the opportunity. “Would you rather a chair or stay here?” he asked, slow and pointed.

There was a long pause, and Severus worried Potter had run away again, but Potter spoke eventually. “Here,” he murmured through his knuckles, and he went back to twirling, eyes glassy.

Well, the only thing Severus could really do was make sure Potter was as comfortable as possible while he rode this out. He would attempt grounding techniques, but Potter was never agreeable fully aware, and he doubted a half-dissociated Potter would be much better. Severus would most likely be brushed off.

So he went about doing what he could. He stood from the floor and locked the door with a quick flick of his wand. He settled himself at the desk, a safe distance away, and thought long and hard about whether or not he should remove Potter’s unstable glamor. Instinctually he wanted to, but it was another comfort for the boy, and the last thing Severus knew he should do was take that away. 

But it wasn’t  _ healthy. _ Every single coping mechanism Severus found Potter using was damaging or making the problem worse. He inhaled, held it, and exhaled. Now was certainly not the time to be thinking on such topics.

Severus made himself comfortable, keeping an eye on Potter’s huddled form in case there were signs of genuine distress. He read a book half heartedly, fiddled with the pages, read and reread the same paragraph three times from lack of focus. Potter looked so small curled on the floor, one of the blankets wrapped tight around his shoulders, the only movements being his twirling wand and a slight sway as he minutely adjusted his weight to stay upright. He didn’t speak, didn’t blink, and didn’t move his knuckles away from his mouth.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then fourty. Severus was getting more and more anxious, unsure if such an episode was normal for the boy or not. He debated on moving him to a chair anyway, but thought against that too, and the frustration of having to sit on his hands made him grit his teeth, but slowly, over the course of twenty more minutes, Potter became more active. He started blinking, eyes briefly rolling to adjust themselves back to reality, and that turned into him shifting on the floor, palms flat against the cool stone. Potter stopped twirling his wand to set it down, pressing his fingertips to his temple instead, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

He hadn’t wanted to interrupt before, but the sign of distress was worrying. “I see you have returned. Are you alright?”

“Headache,” Potter grunted, shielding his eyes instead of holding his temple. 

Severus flicked his wand, and a pain reliever appeared next to him. He floated the potion over to Potter who peeked at it between his fingers, skeptical.

“It is a pain reliever, Mr. Potter,” he said to the boy, only a touch exasperated. “I am sure you are quite familiar.”

Potter scoffed but didn’t deny it. He used his other hand to grab the potion from the air, only removed the hand shielding his eyes when he needed to pop it open. He downed it, quick, a motion well lived in, and set the potion bottle on the floor. Severus could see Potter’s expression smooth out. Pleased, he vanished the vile with a flick of his wand.

“Do you need a minute?”

“No,” he muttered. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“I only asked you once,” Severus said with a frown. Potter still wasn’t behaving right, and it worried him.

Potter shrugged and made a move to stand, then seemingly thought better of it. He readjusted his legs instead, just slightly, like they had fallen asleep. His glamor flickered violently for a moment, red and black clashing as if visibly showing Severus of his mental tug of war before it smoothed out again.

Severus frowned. “You hardly ate anything,” he said, instead of pointing out what he had just witnessed. Potter didn’t need his struggles handed back to him. “I can summon leftovers if you are feeling up to it.”

Potter only shrugged again, clearly still not listening, not fully. At a loss, Severus stood to go downstairs and grab more food. Excuses bounced around in his mind, some more agreeable than others, but he didn’t make it to the door.

“Wait,” Potter spoke from the floor. 

Severus waited.

There was a long, heavy pause. Severus didn’t move, chest swelling with hope that Potter would ask for help for once in his life. Just once, he would reach out a hand, give the adults around him another chance - give  _ Severus _ another chance.

“...I - don’t want you to bother Mrs. Weasley,” he said, and the words carved out the hope in his chest and left it a void of disappointment. “I’ll eat later, I don’t want to bother her.”

“You will state that now and dodge it when I bring it up,” he said, his words feeling heavy. “I will be right back.”

He shut the door behind him, feeling as though he was leaving a child to drown.

Getting food was no issue. In the end he stuck to being mostly honest, saying Potter didn’t eat much and was hungry now, and Molly tisked to herself and gave him a heaping plate full a moment later. He dutifully took it up, even though Potter couldn’t possibly eat that much. When he returned, Potter seemed a bit more lucid, a bit more attentive. To his surprise, red hair greeted him when he opened the door, Evan’s familiar frown both welcoming and worrisome.

Thankfully, he took the plate of food with no complaints.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is not as warmed up to him as Snape thinks he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! so sorry for the long wait, Christmas plans have been - to put it gently - kicking my ass, and the fact that this story isn’t my priority to update only made it worse. this chapter has been in the workshop for a while now, but it’s finally ready to be posted. Merry Christmas for those who celebrate with me, and happy holidays 💙

Harry was secluded in the bathroom, carefully snipping away at his hair. It had grown awfully long and was getting in his eyes, and it had gotten to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to fix it. Granted he was no hairdresser, but living with the Dursleys had taught him many skills to make up for their neglect, and basic grooming was certainly on that list.

Besides, the moment of reprieve was very much welcome. The Burrow had always been home for Harry, the Weasleys being just consistent enough in their behavior that he could grow comfortable to a degree in their presence, adults or otherwise. Grimmauld’s Place held no such warmth in its structure. The walls were cold, personal in all the wrong ways, strong at the wrong angles, and the house being flooded by every adult Harry had ever met didn’t help matters. It made him on edge, always wound, always ready. He hated it. He missed the Burrow with his whole soul, wished desperately they could all go back there to camp out and plan instead. He didn’t feel safe in Grimmauld’s Place. He felt trapped, suffocated. He understood why Padfoot hated it so much.

He shook out his much shorter hair, examining the burning red strands closely. It was a bit choppy but Harry wasn’t looking for perfection. He decided the back needed to be shorter and went back to work, the steady snips of the scissors a calming noise in his ear, something he cherished. The quiet of the bathroom was soothing, and Harry’s mind began to wander slightly, drift off in the clouds as his hands went through the very practiced motions. He wasn’t feeling anything, no thoughts in particular, a balm of neutrality.

A knock on the door startled him so badly he nearly cut the tip of his finger. He instinctively pulled his glamor up in a matter of seconds as he bit down on a colorful expletive.

There was a moment’s pause, and Harry could see in the mirror’s reflection Hermione peek from behind the door, her curls frizzy and everywhere. Harry felt himself smile despite the shock still making his heart beat quick. He didn’t need to fake it, he was happy to see her.

“There you are,” she said, stepping a bit farther into the bathroom. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing?”

Harry turned his smile into a grin, crooked in a way he knew would look sheepish. He wiggled the scissors in the air. “My hair is dreadful,” he replied. “I’m trying to cut it and failing miserably.”

She tutted at him, approached from behind, and Harry felt safe enough to let her. She examined the back of his head for a moment.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” she decided. “It’s better than I thought it would be, if I’m honest.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “Honestly I’ll take it.”

She moved to sit, perching herself on the side of the bathtub to watch him carefully cut away. He liked working slow and steady on most things, liked to nitpick and make sure nothing was out of place, and that was doubly true when it came to his appearance. Less was more.

“Hey Harry?”

“Hm?”

“What do you think of Grimmauld’s Place?”

Harry paused to shoot a quick glance at her, and from what he could tell it was an honest, simple question. He hummed thoughtfully, shook out his hair again with his fingers while he tried to find a compromise between his feelings and his glamored self’s behavior.

He fucking hated it there, but the Golden Boy couldn’t say that. 

“Eh.”

“Eh?” she echoed.

“Eh.” Harry shrugged. “I’d rather be at the Burrow, but we’re here now. Not much we can do about it.” That was what he’d been reassuring himself with, at least. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, not with who they thought he was and their expectations. Breaking those expectations wasn’t an option. “What about you?”

Hermione sighed and melted as much as she could without falling from her make-shift seat. Harry threw her an amused but sympathetic look behind his fringe, snipping away at the ends of it. “Awful,” she groaned. “Dreadful. It’s so - so  _ isolating, _ Harry. No wonder Sirius hates this place.”

“That is the point of hiding,” Harry agreed, absently, and grinned when Hermione shot him a pretend glare from his left. “I know. At least you have me and Ron. And Ginny, and the twins, and -”

“I get it, I  _ get it.” _ She sighed again, placing her chin in her palm. “I don’t know. Maybe I just miss going out places.”

Harry ran his fingers through his fringe and decided to lay off her. Clearly she wasn’t in the mood to be teased. “Sorry, Mione. I’d offer to fly with you if you didn’t hate it.”

“Loathe, you mean.” Scowling at the thought alone, she straightened and approached him again, ruffling out his hair. “It looks good.”

“Thanks.” He stood as well, dusting his shoulders off of leftover strands and beginning to rinse off the scissors, prepping them to be thoroughly cleaned. “Maybe you’ll let me cut yours someday.”

She scoffed at him, and he laughed at her scrunched face. “Hardly. Are you coming out?”

“Yeah, in a minute. I’m almost done.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay in the safe bubble of the bathroom, talking harmlessly with Hermione until their throats went raw, but Harry wasn’t naive enough to think that was possible. Instead he pushed down the dread in his heart and scrubbed the scissors with hand soap before rinsing them well. He dried them off on his shirt, hiding his strained breathing from Hermione as they walked back to the living room together. His ribs still weren’t fully healed.

Snape was standing in the living room talking to Professor McGonagal, all somber faces and cool tones, and Harry avoided them like they harbored the plague. Harry might have been good at reading people, but he was no mind reader, and the two stony faced professors were still mostly wild cards, not only in their behavior but towards him in particular. Thankfully Snape seemed keen to talk with his colleague and leave Harry alone, so he took the opportunity for what it was and settled down with Hermione on the couch, tucked close, knees touching and shoulders pressed together. The close contact helped soothe him, however slightly.

“Do not settle down,” Snape told him when McGonagall stopped to breathe. “I wish to speak with you.”

Harry sighed, and the big show he put on for Hermione was only half faked. She patted his arm, smiling, sympathetic, but Harry was privately thankful for the Professor pulling him away.

Snape was not a confidant, he was not a friend. He was an opportunity. 

Harry’s glamor weighed on him magically, threatening to drain him, demanding his full attention at all times to upkeep and reapply, and a liar Harry was but an idiot he was not. He knew very well the cost of refusing breaks from such heavy, constant magic, nearly faced it at the Dursley’s every summer. If he took off the glamor at Privet Drive the Ministry would latch onto it immediately and it would be over, not to mention reapplying it. Not even the Savior was exempt from that rule - understandably. 

Snape’s presence wasn’t safe, not truly, but he was a safe zone where his glamor was concerned, somewhere to give him a much needed breather against the ever present pull of the glamor in his chest, in his mind. Collapsing - or even worse, the glamor failing - was not an option, and Snape’s constant excuses throughout the day were wonderful times to take. Only when needed, of course. Harry didn’t want to turn complacent.

No, Snape would never be an ally, Harry didn’t want him to be. But a truce…a truce he could work with.

The boy looked exhausted. Severus pursed his lips, attempting to listen to Minerva’s muttered concerns while trying to figure out how long Potter had been awake for. It was guesswork at best, but Severus was very familiar with the different stages of sleep deprivation.

Potter’s episode was where Severus drew the line between what he could ignore and what he couldn’t. He had to make some kind of progress with the boy, even if it wasn’t Potter indulging to him what was happening. There were other ways of progression. Giving the child a healthy coping mechanism was an excellent start. As far as Severus could tell, Potter’s methods were either stagnant or harmful with no in between, and certainly held no positive outcome. Giving him a way of relieving stress without mentally wandering seemed like the way to go, at least temporarily.

Severus was no therapist. Truthfully, anything he dealt with in the Slytherin dorms was all his own instinct, educated guesses backed by logic and hope, with his own personal experiences added in to some extent. He wasn’t trained to deal with trauma, but he also couldn’t sit back and watch as Potter destroyed himself, step by step. So, against his better judgement, he did his own research when he had the time. In between setting up lesson plans, brewing for Poppy’s stock, and attempting to drag out any answer he could through Potter’s tightly clenched teeth, he grabbed any book and article he could about dissociation. Unfortunately, he didn’t find much, but what he could find was a start and he was going to take it.

Granger was by him, but that did little for Potter’s mood. He sulked irritably as Granger soothed, patting his elbow gently, and Severus wasn’t sure if the boy was putting on a show or if he really hated his Professor that much. It could be either, maybe both, maybe an entirely different reason that wasn’t so obvious. As usual, he wasn’t sure.

Minerva ended her talk with him and he moved, called Potter over and stalked up the stairs, trusting Potter to know the routine by then. 

The second he had the door shut and locked behind him, Snape stripped him of his glamor, a choice Harry would never make himself. The forceful pressure on his chest relaxed and his magic burned in his veins, a horrible concoction of relieving and deeply troubling. Harry didn’t know how to feel about it even then, and it took all of his willpower not to cringe from the air hitting his arms, the Professor’s stare turning menacing and penetrating. He felt too open, a warrior without his shield, a soldier without his armor.

Feeling particularly spiteful that afternoon, Harry sat on one of the loveseats sprinkled around the room instead of his normal spot. The blankets hadn’t changed or been touched, and he found a comfort in the stillness of it.

If Snape was irritated by Harry’s choice, he did very well at hiding it, behavior that Harry was still adjusting to, even after so many months. It was such a shift.

“I assume you know what this is about?”

He knew damn well.

“Was Kretcher spreading rumors again?” He clicked his tongue. “Terribly sorry. I told him to stop doing that but he doesn’t seem to listen.”

That got a reaction. Snape pursed his lips with impatience, and amusement swelled in Harry’s chest even as his face remained a calm neutral. Snape was always so easy to rustle.

“I meant more of your episode yesterday,” he said calmly, and Harry admired his patience, wondered bitterly where it had been every other interaction he’d ever had with the man. “Your casual dismissal of it is disturbing.”

“Oh, right. That.” Harry picked absently at the blanket underneath him, his attention already starting to wander and needing an anchor. “A nasty side effect of being hit in the head with a killing curse, don’t you think? I wonder if Voldemort scrambled something up there.”

Truthfully, Harry had no idea where that came from. Sometimes everything was too much and he just - ran away. He didn’t remember when it had started or how it had gotten so bad, but he could recognize the start of an episode and knew when to haul ass. Even if he did know the reason, the last person he would tell would be Snape. No, maybe Dumbledore, but Snape was a close second.

“I have my own theories on its origins,” Snape said, and Harry openly scowled. Snape loved playing games. With his students, with his peers and coworkers, and especially with Harry. He didn’t trust Snape as far as he could throw him, and if Harry had to dance around in circles to keep Snape from learning more, he would.

“Enlighten me.”

“That is hardly the reason for this. How often does that happen?”

“I’m sort of out of it,” Harry said, grinning with his teeth, bordering on a snarl but just a tick too polite. It wouldn’t cow him, but it would get on his nerves, and that was a distraction in itself. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer.”

“Do your relatives know of your episodes?”

“The Weasleys?” Snape let out a soft sigh through his nose as Harry continued. “No, I don’t think they do.”

“Your muggle relatives, Potter.”

“Who knows?”

_ “You _ would.”

“Like I said before, I’m a bit out of it when that happens. Don’t know up from down.” He buried his fingers in the soft downy of the blanket, seeking warmth and missing Hermione’s company. The magical break was a must but the mental toll almost wasn’t worth the trade-off. Almost. Snape was lucky he was careful, or Harry would’ve left a long time ago. “Merlin, you don’t listen as much as you claim  _ I _ don’t.”

“Let me rephrase,” he said slowly, carefully, no doubt to keep a leash on his temper. “Who knows of your episodes?”

“Why call them ‘episodes’? It was hardly a minute.”

Snape stared at him, and only then did his annoyance fade to dull bemusement. “It was over an hour.”

Struck silent, Harry’s eyes widened at that. To him it hadn’t even been five minutes, but he had been struggling for an hour…? Why was Snape just now mentioning that?

“That explains your dismissiveness.” Snape frowned. “I wanted to speak with you on ways to avoid this in the future.”

Thoughtlessly, Harry responded, mouth on autopilot. He did not like what Snape just told him. “You’re my interrogator, not my therapist. I didn’t ask.”

“You never would,” Snape began, but Harry cut him off.

“Then that should be sign enough that it will forever be unwelcome.”

“Doing nothing would condone your self destruction. I am past asking for your permission.”

Anger breached the cloudiness in his head, bubbling up from his stomach and leaking acid into his chest. His words burned on the way out. “When have you ever asked for my permission for anything?”

Snape slowly closed his eyes, and he recognized the regretful action as much as he recognized Snape’s regret was for the wrong reason.

“That is not what I meant.”

“How else would you mean it?” Harry scoffed. “Or are you so daft as to mix up your words that horribly?”

When Snape opened his eyes, they were furious, and even when fear squeezed the air out of his lungs he didn’t back down. If Snape wanted the real Harry, he would fucking give it to him, and the real Harry was so tired of being looked over.

“You are walking on thin ice Potter,” was the Professor’s quiet reply, deadly and threatening, and Harry grit his teeth. “I suggest you move away from it.”

“You’ve been on thin ice for months now,” Harry replied bitterly. “Either you break it, or I will.”

The two stared at each other, fury in their faces, a tense stillness settling over the room until it more resembled a photograph than real life. Harry barely breathed, a voice still in the back of his mind screaming at him that if he moved too quickly, Snape would strike.

Instead, he stood up from his chair and walked out of the room. The door slammed so hard it made Harry’s teeth rattle, and he was happy to watch him go, hoping with hate in his heart and spite in every breath that Snape choked on his pride while he was at it.


End file.
